"London's first permanent popup space", House of Wolf aims to make you hungry like Simon LeBon after having oodles of sex with exotic models, by bussing in one ambitiously experimental chef or foodie collective for a month residency, then bussing them out and bringing in someone else even more ambitious/experimental
The venue itself is spectacular: a three-story vintage-louche den ripped straight from the mind of an opium-addled Victorian novelist, with touches like a huge, five-foot brass telescope filled with lunar slides in their chandelier-lit Parlour, and an Apothecary Bar ensconced by walls of ornate miniature wooden drawers, one of which contains a handle that opens up a secret, six-seat "fainting room" decorated with pencil-drawn Soho working girls of the sort that give you "female hysteria"
Specific dinners -- including the first one, from absurdly creative Blumenthal protege Caroline Hobkinson -- will stay completely secret until opening night, but all's steered in the direction of the multi-sensory; they're even partnered with an Oxford Uni food psychology professor, who'll "sneak a behavioral experiment into each menu". You don't need a psychologist to tell you the drinks are mad though, with permanent offerings including
Wolf's Blood: A waitress wearing a small, chilled bottle of cognac around her neck arrives at your table and places a petri dish with a spherified black cherry in it; then, using a vintage hypodermic needle, she draws out the fluid and injects it into the bottle, before placing it around your neck. Yep
David Bellamy: A vase full of a hibiscus vodka cocktail, complete with a flower in it, except the flower is edible, and the stem is a straw
Black Treacle: An Old Fashioned made w/ black pudding-infused rum, served in a Tate & Lyle treacle tin, w/ a slice of caramelized apple on the lid -- very out there, but still strong enough to turn you into one of the Wild Boys.